


the beast is in pieces, arrange them together

by acrobaticblood



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Multi, Pegging, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Vaginal Fingering, ah there's hair pulling too!, also finger sucking!, bedelia is beautiful and ruthless, dinner diatribes and dicking, hannibal is pining after will, that was the alternate title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrobaticblood/pseuds/acrobaticblood
Summary: She doesn’t know how big Will Graham’s cock is (and thank goodness for that), but she’s sure it fails in comparison to her purple dildo.Mmm... So basically, Hannibal Lecter gets fucked in the ass by none other than the glorious Bedelia du Maurier.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	the beast is in pieces, arrange them together

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy!!!!

Bedelia always knew she held certain power over Hannibal Lecter. She didn’t think she would ever do anything about that, but the knowledge was always there, quietly teetering in the back of her mind. It’s not the kind of power Will Graham has over him, she’s aware of that, of course, and really she couldn’t be less interested in the bloodlust that is their mutual yearning, but she is perceiving enough to recognize when a door of opportunities has been open.

She was never fully Hannibal’s equal, but only because she didn’t want to be. Hannibal might have taken off his person suit in front of her, but she was never completely naked in front of him. She didn’t allow Hannibal to see her, like Will Graham allowed him, and through that she remained her own person at least to some extent. As much as one can stay in conscious control of their choices when under Hannibal’s influence.

She’s aware she’s a replacement in more ways than one. Hannibal doesn’t say it, most days he doesn’t even act like it, but it’s evident in the way he looks at Bedelia. Like it’s on her that he’s been left stranded, a body swallowed by the merciless tide only to be spit out a corpse onto the shore. Syllables aren’t needed to indicate that she’s unsuccessfully filling a hole in the middle of Hannibal’s chest. A hole in the shape of Will Graham. Learning that Hannibal is capable of feeling something like that doesn’t surprise her, if anything it serves as a better understanding of the actions he takes. She’s learned a long time ago not to presume anything about the man. It defies his nature, to act accordingly to presumptions of another. But she _is_ amused. Bedelia finds it all so amusing.

He’s not even trying to hide his mourning for the life he could’ve had, should’ve had tonight. Hannibal’s prepared lamb as simply as ever and for the first time in a while it’s just the two of them. No fancy guests or day-long preparations in the kitchen. Only Chopin buzzing softly from a record player in the background and the reminiscent look on Hannibal’s face. Bedelia places one oyster in her mouth and looks out the open window. The Florence sun has just begun to set, painting the skies hot colors in random streaks. She thinks about bloodshed for a moment and how so much of it is created in a poor attempt to imitate the burning crimson sunset. The church bells ring and suddenly she understands.

“It’s been exactly one month since you’ve left everything behind.“ She observes the way the fork stops amidst its pathway to Hannibal’s mouth. “Any thoughts? Regrets perhaps?”

Hannibal takes a bite, staying silent. He tilts his head a little to the side, revealing nothing. “You know I don’t indulge much in regret. I find it to be a bit like hope. In the sense that both bring only misery.”

Bedelia considers that for a moment. “And are you?” she asks. “Hopeful?”

Hannibal’s the one to look out the window then. There’s soft crease forming in between his brow bones, but he’s as unreadable as ever. She wonders if he thinks about bloodshed too when he looks at the sun setting, or is it all just art to him.

“I was,” he says quietly then, no eye contact. She’s not sure what he thinks she could find in it, but he’s careful enough not to let her see.

“It was your second misstep,” She informs him, pulling on the soft oyster meat with her fork. “First being deciding to lay your trust in Will Graham.”

The name brings him back to consciousness, just as she suspected it would. He picks up his mask again, finally able to lock eyes with her, and in an even tone says, “Will Graham was a poor miscalculation. Something I shouldn’t have allowed myself.”

She’s not sure who he’s trying to fool. “No, you shouldn’t have,” She states. “But you did. And then you allowed yourself to be hopeful. You put the knife in Will Graham’s hands and willingly offered your throat for slaughter.” She could be taking it too far. But she can’t help the knot of curiosity in her belly. 

“ _I_ gutted _him_ ,” Hannibal points out as if it matters. “I left Will Graham to bleed out on my kitchen floor.”

“And I’m not saying you didn’t. All I’m saying is that Will Graham is not the only one bearing the permanent scars of your relationship.” She really ought to be more careful, she can see the way Hannibal’s fingers clench around the fork. She’s struck a nerve. Not hard to do so these days.

“Finish your dinner, Bedelia,” The conversation is to be terminated then, Hannibal informs her, stabbing the lamb in his plate.

She almost wants to congratulate Wil Graham. She is probably the only person that gets to witness just how deep under Hannibal’s skin that little twitchy man got. Making the very beast weep, truly and accomplishment. If only she wasn't the one left with the beast’s pieces to arrange back together.

Later, when the sun has long set and the dining room has been returned to its pre-supper state, she takes a much needed bath and ponders her options. It’s the vulnerability that truly sickens her and she knows that she could make a show out of it. Hannibal would let her, she’s certain of it, but he would never ask. She has to make the first step.

When she’s out of the bath she puts on a rose scented lotion all over her body and sits on the edge of the bathtub naked while it soaks into her skin. She brushes her hair staring at her reflection in the mirror and wonders who the person looking back is.

She exits the bathroom in a silk grey bathrobe, tying a loose knot around her waist. She finds him with his back turned, behind the closet doors. She doesn’t need to take a look to know what he’s doing. It’s where he keeps the knife. The one he used to carve his name into Will Graham. Sometimes she hears him getting up in the middle of the night and turning the closet light on. She imagines him sitting on a little stool they have in there, sliding his finger across the cool blade until the cold moonlight departs and the sun starts to rise. He must be furious at the small object, for it knows best what it is like to truly be inside of Will Graham.

She takes out the strap on when Hannibal leaves to prepare for the night. She inspects the length and the girth of the purple dildo, wider at the head and with tiny ridges to imitate the veins. It’s attached to a beautiful leather harness that she knows she’ll look good in. She takes out lube and places both items neatly on the bed. Then she stands next to the window and waits.

When Hannibal exits the bathroom she doesn’t turn around. She knows he won’t say no to her, but she still wants to give him a chance to retreat. He could leave the bedroom while her back is turned and they’d never speak of it again. Or he could ignore the playthings laying innocently on the bed and eat her out until all of it was forgotten. The lamb in their bellies, the knife behind the closet door. The big hand on the clock we’ll soon point to tomorrow and all of this will be put to pause. Or he could get it out of his system.

“Is it that kind of night, Bedelia?” He comes up behind her, one careful hand sliding her gown just enough so a kiss can be placed upon her shoulder. There’s nothing gentle about Hannibal and yet she tilts her head a little to have it brush against his own.

The kisses stray from her shoulder up to her neck, Hannibal’s fingers moving her hair away and she feels him bury his nose there, inhaling deeply. She turns around in his grip finally, only slightly surprised by the glossy sheen covering his eyes and slowly, but deliberately guides him back to their bed. He goes willingly, hands twisted in her hair and once the backs of his knees hit the side of the bed, she places both of her hands on his shoulders. She doesn’t have to push on them and really, this isn’t about physical strength. He sits down on the bed, because Bedelia wants him to.

She watches him for a moment and dreads admitting much pity she finds in herself for this man below her. His neck is slightly craned and he’s looking up at her like she holds something he needs. It’s a good feeling. Hannibal needing something from her.

She runs her fingers through his fringe a couple of times and then settles a hand on the back of his neck, toying with short hair there. With her other hand she unties the front of her silk gown and lets it fall onto the floor. He’s still looking into her eyes, but then she makes a fist in his hair, pulling on it in a way she imagines to be painful at least to some degree.

“We both know you need this, Hannibal,” She tells him. “Let me give you what you need.”

He keeps quiet and she can’t really tell what is going through his head, even though his face has visibly softened. There must be desire coiling inside of him, unrequited desire, burning him from the inside. Thoughts of exploitation too. Finally, he nods and laches his lips onto her breast. She gasps, surprised and suddenly aching too. He sucks intently, twirling his deft tongue around her nipple and she feels it go erect in his mouth. She’s breathing heavier, nails digging into the back of Hannibal’s neck. His hands are gripping her waist tightly, teeth grazing over the soft flesh and when he finally lets go, there’s saliva dripping down the full curve of her breast. His lips are wet and she brushes a finger over them. They separate easily, but she won’t give into his desires just yet.

“Take of your clothes and open yourself up for me,” She places the bottle of lube in his hand and goes to sit at an armchair near the window. She keeps her legs uncrossed and places her fingers lightly over her cunt. They’re cold and she exhales as she watches Hannibal unbutton his sleeping shirt. He’s looking at her, but again in the eyes. He’s strangely polite, she’s noticed. Never taking anything he isn’t offered from her. In the bedroom at least.

He takes his time undressing, and she uses it to spread her cunt and tease one knuckle inside. She doesn’t want to come yet, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep her fingers still.

“On your hands and knees,” She tells him when he’s fully bare on the bed. He quirks an eyebrow at her and she quirks hers in return.

“You’re a ruthless woman,” He says, but obeys.

She smirks a little. “I can see how hard you are already. There’s no point in steering away now,” She gets up from the armchair and walks up to him on the bed. He’s kneeling at the center of it, fingers already wet with lube. “Unless, of course, you wish to be steering away. Do you, Hannibal?”

He offers her a look that can only be read as amusement. “You are going to make me say it, aren’t you, Dr. Du Maurier?”

She wishes to contort those sharp features, until there’s nothing but wanton hunger in them. Until the only thing Hannibal Lecter is capable of feeling is the aching need to come undone by her hand. “Yes,” She smiles sympathetically. “But not yet. Push them in.”

Hannibal doesn’t stall. He breaches a finger inside holding their gazes looked. Bedelia pushes a hand into his hair once again, but this time she grabs a handful and pulls it from the root. His head snaps back harshly, mouth falling open. He’s not making any sounds just yet, but she knows she can get him there.

“Another one,” She says. His breathing is coming out short and sharp and even though she can’t see him taking it from this angle, she does see the way his bicep strains with each pump. He’s working those fingers in deep, not shying away from discomfort.

She drops a hand down between her legs, realizing that she’s wet. She can’t help but rub herself roughly for a second, already feeling the tightening come, but she wills herself to stop, instead messing her fingers up with the slickness that’s been gathering and brings them to Hannibal’s mouth. She’s sure by now he’s treated himself with three fingers, but she wants him fully stretched and lose when she finally fucks him. She doesn’t know how big Will Graham’s cock is (and thank goodness for that), but she’s sure it fails in comparison to her purple dildo.

Hannibal takes her fingers eagerly, working his tongue around them, now full in every way possible. She pushes them deeper experimentally and suddenly she’s got him gagging, eyes rolling to the back of his head as a single tear slides down his cheek. She starts pulling her fingers out, but his mouth goes with them, still soft and engulfing.

“Is that how you suck cock too?” She observes, more than asks. Hannibal’s eyes fall closed and there’s no world in which he’s not thinking about having his face stuffed with cock. Preferably Will Graham’s cock, she guesses. “So enthusiastic, it’s lovely.”

His arm stops moving and she takes it as a sign that he’s ready. She touches his cheek once, takes in the picture of a used man and then puts the on strap on.

“I’d ask you to lube up the dildo, but you’re not looking capable of that right now.” Lord the things he’s letting her get away with tonight. “I hope you’ve stretched yourself nice and wide, Hannibal.”

She prepares the toy, slicking it up generously and kneels behind Hannibal on the bed. She brushes her thumb over the glistening hole once, without giving him the pleasure of dipping the finger in, but Hannibal still jerks, his shoulders straining. “Shhh, it’s good, you look good like this.”

It comes out of nowhere, the praise, but she doesn’t particularly mind it. He does look good like that, on all fours and heaving, cock high and throbbing. He’s got strong broad shoulders, she’s always admired them, but she likes them quivering like they are now.

She doesn’t stall for long after that. She couldn’t if she wanted, she can feel how swollen and hot her cunt is. She needs to be inside him. With her hands she spreads his ass and slowly starts breaching. His hole takes her easily and she pushes her nails into the soft skin, pleased when she hears him exhale heavily. She takes her time seating herself fully into him and watches the way his fingers rhythmically contract and relax in the sheets. His head is bowed down, neck long and sweaty. She thrusts slowly two times into him, pulling out even slower and on the fourth one she feels him pushing his ass to meet her, begging to take the fake cock deeper. She likes the eagerness. What she doesn’t like, however, is how quiet he is. 

“I’m afraid the time has come, Hannibal.” Always so painfully polite, she thinks. Even with his face deep in her cunt or while his cock is tearing her from the inside out – he’s always managed to stay well-mannered and refined. Well, tonight she wants his worst. She wants the crudeness he hates about himself, she wants him to need it _that_ much, that he abandons all reason and courtesy. “You’re going to have to say it.”

He groans helplessly, the sheets crumpled in his fist as she keeps up the torturous pace. She makes sure to keep it steady, but still bottoming out every single time. One more frustrated noise leaves him and when he’s again filled to the brim, large head of the dildo brushing over that spot deep inside, he says it. “Better. Fuck me better.”

“Not good enough, Hannibal,” Bedelia mutters through her teeth. It’s getting increasingly difficult to concentrate. She just wants to pound away, but not before he admits it to himself.

He doesn’t answer. He’s keeping his fists locked in the bedding, knuckles going white and for a brief second she thinks she’s overestimated him. That he’s not ready to give her this, that it’s too intimate of a position, the one he’s brought them into. She stops. Halfway inside, nails still digging into his flesh, breath caught and uneven. She debates just giving it to him. She knows he wants it, yearns for the ache Will Graham left him with to be satisfied, even if for a miserable second, by someone that could never be a worthy replacement. But she’s also convinced saying it out loud, giving it a name, would serve as a much better remedy. So she waits it out. Gives him a chance to recuperate. A chance to hear and come to terms with the words inside his mind.

Bedelia decides to put faith into Hannibal, like Hannibal decided to put faith into will Graham, hoping that he comes to her. And then he says it.

“Fuck me like he would.”

She doesn’t wait for him to say it a second time, if she’s being honest she didn’t even expect him to be _this_ crude about it, but she guesses she did read his neediness extremely well tonight. She grabs his hips and pumps into him from behind, not holding back. He takes it so beautifully. She imagines that his jaw is aching and that he’s cock is so full and erect by now that he wants to scream with it.

“Is this how you wish he’d fuck you?” She pounds into him again, mindless with it. “Hard and deep, until you were so full of his cock you’d forget your name? I bet he’d have you shaking with two words.”

She keeps the rhythm up, going fast and sharp, angling her hips just a little to have the dildo reach where it needs to. He’s trembling properly now, nothing in the air but their heavy breaths and occasional grunts. Bedelia almost feels sad for this broken man. Loneliness is merciless and having that place finally filled by someone, only to have them betray you must feel like your heart is at the center of a slaughterhouse.

His hands give out and suddenly he’s got his face mushed down in the sheets, ass high up and weakly straining to meet her thrusts. She knows he’s close. He just needs a little nudge.

“Would you moan for him, hmm? You think Will Graham could make you scream like a bitch?” She gets a hand under him, fisting it around his cock and is in no surprise when she finds it leaking and hot. She strokes him once or twice and hears him whimper with his cheek in the bedding, eyes shut tightly.

He comes with Will’s name on his lips, barely audible and revealed more in the shape his mouth forms then anything. Come spurts out over the sheets and her hand and she keeps the dildo inside of him, unmoving, until he stops shaking.

Bedelia can feel herself throbbing still, but decides she can finish that off in the bathroom on her own. She’s reduced Hannibal to a quivering mess and after he gets out from god knows where he ended up in his head, he’ll probably fall asleep and she’s not about to touch herself then. She slips the dildo out of him as gently as possible, but he still makes a little sound in the back of his throat and extends his legs on the bed. The strap on comes off and Bedelia leaves it on the floor to deal with later. She’s about to walk out on shaking legs, but then Hannibal lifts an arm gesturing to her.

“Come rest next to me,” He says. His voice is strange, somehow unworried and raspier than usual. She climbs back on the bed. Hannibal helps her lay down, positions himself between her legs and it’s obvious even before he says it. “I want to taste you.”

She only blinks at him and runs a hand through his sweaty fringe. It’s funny. The way they ended up. She almost wants to laugh. Say to him, _this is so fucked up. We are so lonely and fucked up, Hannibal. Don’t you see it? I see it. I see it in your eyes even when you don't want me to._

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything. She lets him soak up her desire and her shame, tongue and teeth. She lays there with her head thrown back and her hand brushing through Hannibal's hair, this time tender and safe. And afterwards, when she’s orgasmed, Hannibal lays his head on her thigh and whispers “Thank you” and all Bedelia can do is curse Will Graham.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are very welcome!! thank you for reading! have a nice day!


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